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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561865">True Love is Like a Beard: It Grows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard'>SpartanGuard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beards (Facial Hair), M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:33:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this yak: "My roommate just told me to stop growing my beard because if I get any more handsome, he's gonna have to fuck me, but what he doesn't know is that I want that." David grows a beard to protect himself from bitter Maine winters; his roommate, Killian, notices.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Prince Charming | David Nolan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>True Love is Like a Beard: It Grows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't dabbled a ton in Romantic Captain Charming, but I saw this prompt and had to.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>January in Maine was cold. Bitingly so. And David knew it better than anyone, working for the humane society—specifically, being the person that takes calls about animals running wild in the great outdoors. An outdoors that was presently covered in snow and several degrees below freezing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So if he skipped a day shaving, in a possibly vain attempt at protecting his face from the elements, would anyone blame him? It seemed to work for his roommate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granted, that was another story entirely. Killian Jones, expat engineer, probably the hottest guy David had ever met while simultaneously the nerdiest. Neat to a fault, excellent cook, perfect gentleman—perfect roommate. Owner of one prosthetic hand, a pair of eyes that matched the Atlantic, and most importantly (or at least, most relevant): a carefully manicured beard that seemed to help him brave their frigid winters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, he’d never heard any complaints. And Killian did spend a lot of time on the water with his sailboat (did David mention the color of his eyes? Because holy hell did the ocean bring them out) so he would know. Hell, he let it fill in a bit in the winter, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So yeah. It was time for David to give this beard thing a shot. Because he was tired of wrapping up in scarves and/or risking frostbite every time someone thought they saw a stray cat in the woods but it turned out to be a raccoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, he was rather disappointed to learn it was not something one grew overnight. It took three days for even patchy stubble to make an appearance. And where Killian’s styled scruff made him look immaculately disheveled, David merely looked hungover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you drop your razor behind the toilet or something?” Killian teased while making breakfast. “Or was that pint too much last night?” While he had enjoyed a brew the night before while watching Liverpool clean the field with Man U—Killian’s favorite team—it had hardly left him buzzed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much as you think I’m a lightweight, no; I’m giving this beard thing a try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian arched an eyebrow, apparently amused at the idea. “I have to say—I’m interested to see how that goes.” As encouraging as it sounded, it was also laced with humor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you don’t think I can do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian chuckled and went back to cooking eggs. “It took years for me to perfect the art of facial hair; I don’t see how you’re going to master it in a handful of weeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David bit into a piece of bacon, rather than into any kind of retort, but honestly, that just made him more motivated to make this work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A week later, it didn’t look a whole lot better (and there was far more white and gray mixed in with the strawberry blond than he’d like to admit) but—it was doing its job. The wind didn’t scrape across his face quite as hard, and his scarf was starting to stay around his neck more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian remained unimpressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to me when you look like Leroy.” The grumpy miner easily had the best beard in Storybrooke, but he’d also had one as long as anyone could remember; not a fair comparison.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does that mean you like his beard?” David teased. “If so, I can probably set something up—hey!” A throw pillow, living up to its name, hit his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settled in to watch another soccer match that night but—was it just him, or was Killian unusually quiet? His team was playing like shit, and he was yelling at that, but usually there was smack talk too and tonight—barely anything. Huh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before they turned in, David apologized. “Hey—sorry about joking about the setup; I didn’t mean anything by it.” Killian’s last breakup had been pretty awful, even if it was a while ago, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt or he was ready to move on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s not—it wasn’t that,” Killian brushed off—although that seemed to imply it was something. “I appreciate it, but you’re fine,” he assured him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was back to normal the next day, but every now and then, there would be weird moments—where he’d catch Killian glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, or the opposite would happen and he’d be avoiding him altogether. (Which wasn’t easy in a two-bed, one-bath apartment.) The second one—that kind of stung, though David wasn’t ready to admit why; but he was at least mature enough to carry on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been about a month since David’s last shave and while he was definitely reaping the protective benefits of having facial hair—he’d barely noticed the nip in the air when shooing a opossum out of Mrs. Lucas’s doghouse—but now was having the opposite problem: things were a bit scraggly, and he hated the idea of looking unkempt. (He had also frightened Mrs. Lucas after said shooing.) But he only had a straight razor—nothing else for grooming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Killian,” he said when he came in the door that night. His roommate was sitting on the couch reading when he entered and looked up, but then immediately darted his eyes away. Another strike in the weird column, but David charged on. “Would it be okay if I borrowed your beard trimmer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, finally tired of it?” Killian quipped, but pointedly didn’t take his gaze off his book.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just need to clean it up a bit. I’m starting to look like the wild animals I run into.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian snorted and told him where to find the trimmer, then went back to reading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a minute, while David held the device in the bathroom, he realized there was an odd intimacy in sharing grooming instruments. With the way Killian had been acting, he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line. But Killian had given him the okay, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he turned it on, and whole different kind of nervousness came over him: what if he really did mess it up, and had to start all over again? February had been even colder than January; he didn’t want to think about exposing his cheeks to that again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, it was being easy and nowhere near as difficult as he’d feared (and the only slip up he made was on his neck, so it was easy to hide). If he spent a few extra minutes admiring his cleaned-up reflection in the mirror...well, that was his business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He changed into more comfortable clothes and headed back out to the main room; Killian was working on dinner in the kitchen. “Well, how’d I do?” David asked. “No more crazy mountain man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian looked up from the skillet he was stirring, paused, then dropped the spatula and cursed. “Bloody hell, mate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Shit, had he somehow made it worse?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to stop it,” Killian threw back, sounding angry and...slightly aroused?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Growing your beard. If you get any more bloody handsome, I’m gonna have to fuck you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was David’s turn to drop something—his jaw. He hadn’t heard that correctly—had he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian wanted to fuck him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David blinked and gaped as he processed that. It didn’t make sense; not with the way Killian had been acting lately—although he was firmly holding his gaze now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence stretched between them, until the tension finally snapped and Killian turned away. “Forget I said anything,” he muttered. “I’m sorry—that was too forward of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up the fallen utensil and went back to work at the stove. David swallowed and took a hesitant step toward him, but then froze again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How was he supposed to tell Killian that he wasn’t put off by that sentiment?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, in fact, he’d quite like to fuck Killian, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Well, that was putting it crudely—and mildly—but if confessions were the order of the day, then yeah, he’d had a crush on his roommate for ages, but just figured it was unrequited and was therefore better not to dwell on.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, David swallowed and closed the rest of the distance between them, arriving at Killian’s side. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay what?” Killian snapped, burning the chicken in the skillet with his stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian gave a snort of derision. “Don’t throw my words back at me if you don’t mean them. I can handle a bit of rejection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was the beard giving him extra confidence, but David had never been so assertive in his life. He didn’t try to say anything back to Killian; there was nothing he could say when actions would do a better job for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he grabbed Killian’s own scruffy cheeks and pressed his lips against his—deeply, with intent, with feeling and not just lust, hoping Killian would read the meaning behind his kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judging by the way he dropped the spatula yet again and wrapped his arms around David’s neck as he pressed his body closer, he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(The bulge in his pants was expected, yet no less appreciated.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For all the times David had imagined this (and more), reality definitely proved better than his dreams. He let a hand wander down Killian’s side to settle at his trim waist, the heat of him under David’s palm a grounding point to prove it wasn’t just fantasy. (His dreams also didn’t have the smell of overcooked chicken in them.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian tilted his head to impossibly deepen the kiss. As much as David had wondered what Killian’s scruff would feel like against his lips (conclusion: divine), he hadn’t anticipated the weird sensation of their facial hair brushing together, and yet—he liked it. He suddenly wanted to touch Killian with every part of him; wherever they made contact was both perfect and not enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chicken started to burn and they needed to come up for air, but Killian didn’t leave David’s embrace when he moved the skillet off the burner and then quickly wrapped his arms around him again. “You weren’t lying,” he said, slightly breathless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you ever known me to?” David answered softly; god, his lips were still tingling from the scratch of Killian’s beard against them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Killian reached his hand up and gently brushed the back of his fingers against David’s scruff. There was care in the gesture, but it was impossible to miss the darkening of Killian’s pupils at the slight scraping noise it made. “The last few weeks have been torture,” he said. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d shave so I could move on. I didn’t...I didn’t think you reciprocated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Longer than you realize,” David admitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I suppose we better make up for lost time,” Killian smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David smiled and quickly found Killian’s lips again; the brush of his beard was just as tantalizing on the second go-round, and his fingers found their way into the soft, short hairs at the nape of his neck, while Kililan’s hand and prosthetic were a comforting weight at his hips. He was hard-pressed to think of a better kiss he’d ever experienced...and hard in other places, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they did: they fucked. Or made love, or had sex, got it on, whatever. Thoroughly. Many times. Another perk to facial hair? Beard burn, in places he never expected to have it (but he was absolutely not complaining). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later that night, once they’d been thoroughly sated (for now), they lay entwined together on Killian’s bed; David was taking the chance to catalog new things about Killian (freckles, ticklish spots, the way his moans vibrate through his core) and Killian still couldn’t keep his hands off David’s beard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just like me for my facial hair, huh?” David teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian chuckled low. “Yes; I’ve spent all this time completely unaware of how kind and funny and endearing you are. I absolutely have not had a crush on you for months; I only admire your beard,” he replied sarcastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David kissed the cocky grin off his new boyfriend’s face. “Well, I’m glad you finally said so,” he quipped, and pulled him closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David didn’t keep the beard in the warmer months, but each year when the chill returned to the air, he let it fill in—and Killian let him know just how attractive he found it, even when the white hairs had fully taken over. (But it was okay, because Killian’s was similarly colored by then.) </span>
</p>
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